


Slice of (Human) Life

by redandwhiteroses



Category: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (Movies)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Food to Friends to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Murder, Murder Family, Mutual Pining, Pining, Reader-Insert, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, no y/n, this is going to be a slice of life fic but a fucked up slice of life one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-15 15:06:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19298203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redandwhiteroses/pseuds/redandwhiteroses
Summary: Becoming a part of the Hewitt family isn't exactly an easy process. Learning to live with them is something else entirely.(A Thomas Hewitt/reader slice of life fic because I can)This is a dark fic!





	1. Sunday Dinner

**Author's Note:**

> I'm honestly not sure where the idea for this came from. I think it was because I was trying to figure out how one would get integrated into the Hewitt family, and my brain told me everything but how that would happen

“Thomas?” You open the basement door slightly, hoping he’ll be able to hear your voice. You don’t hear a response, so you slowly begin making your way down the stairs. You keep one hand on the wall, trying not to shudder at the feeling of dirt and grimes under your palms. The stairs weren’t very well lit and far too rickety for your liking. You stop after several steps.

“Thomas?” You call again. This time, you hear a grunt in response. “Thomas, I… I want to talk to you. It’s not urgent! But I could use your help.”

The steady sound of heavy footsteps and the sloshing of water lets you know that your friend is on his way towards you. You resist the urge to smile. The two of you had developed a strange friendship. Had circumstances been different, you never would have met him. Now, it felt as if the world would be incomplete without Thomas Hewitt. True, his friendship had come at quite tremendous costs: the fact that you have become both a murderer and a cannibal being chief among them. Still, you couldn’t imagine a life without him now. Depending on the day, you could easily see yourself living a wonderful and happy existence without the rest of the Hewitts, but never without Thomas. The very thought made your heart ache.

You shake your head ever so slightly, willing those thoughts to go away. You needed to make sure you didn’t stay inside your mind. If you thought too much about what had happened over the past several months, you were bound to go crazy. You knew that you would snap. You had once been a person with dreams and ambitions, someone who was going to change the world, and yet, here you were, living with a family of canni-

The feeling of a large hand being placed gently on your shoulder brings you back to the present. You look up. Thomas is staring down at you. Though you can’t see a good portion of his face, you know what his expression is just from his eyes. He’s concerned. His brown eyes are sweeping over your face, taking in every minute facial expression. A smile tugs at the corners of your lips. You see his posture relax, feeling the grip on your shoulder lessening, when he sees your smile.

“Sorry. Got caught in my thoughts.” You explain. He huffs in amusement, one eyebrow clearly quirked underneath the mask. You reach out and lightly tap his bicep, making sure to telegraph the movement. You didn’t want to scare him or make him angry at you. Despite his stature, Thomas could be easily startled by sudden movements. He would get this look in his eyes, one that felt all too familiar to you. You would get that look when you were afraid of what someone might do to you.

“Shut up.” He huffs again, this one filled with more amusement. You rub your face with your hands. One of his massive hands reaches out and gently grips you by the wrist, pulling your hand away from your face. You look at him again. He cocks his head ever-so-slightly to the side, making a noise deep within his chest. You nod.

“Oh, right! Yes! That.” You want to run your hands over your face again. “So, Luda Mae wants me to make Sunday dinner this week, I guess as my last part of becoming a part of the family.” Thomas’s eyes brighten, and he nods. “Yeah, I know how big of a deal it is, and I… I know what I want to make, but I’m going to need your help. It’s got several different cuts of meat in it, and I don’t know how to work with what we have to make it like the recipe calls for.” You hesitate for a second. “I saw one of the… travelers, had a Julia Child cookbook, so I snatched it up, and I thought maybe I’d make the Beef Bourguignon. Especially since they had that case of wine in the back. But it calls for bacon and stew beef, and I need to make a broth with it, and it’s just too much Tho-“

He interrupts your rambling by placing his hands on your shoulders. You look up at his face. Once again, he’s studying you intently. This time, you can see concern in his expression. You nod and take a deep breath. You can’t see him nodding with you, but you know he is. You open your eyes. He moves one of his huge hands and holds it open. You nod again, reaching into your apron to pull out a crumpled piece of paper.

“I need 6 ounces of something cut like bacon, and I need 3 pounds of stew beef.” You pause for a moment. “And can I get some recent, you know, bones? I want to make stock from scratch for it since I think Luda Mae wants to have Henrietta over.”

Thomas grunts an affirmative before turning around and heading down the stairs. You aren’t sure whether to follow him. He stops at the bottom of the stairs and looks back up at you, clearly waiting for you to follow. Slowly, you begin your descent down the staircase. Once he sees that you’re following him, he begins walking. You still stay close to the edge as you go down the stairs. No matter how many times you see Thomas walk up and down them, you’ll never fully trust them. 

As you wade through the puddle at the bottom of the stairs, you can hear thumping, almost as if something was being thrown violently onto a wooden object. You look in front of you. Thomas is standing beside his work bench, messing with something. The little thunks tell you it might be some sort of skeleton. He makes a pleased noise, and then a loud snap and crack breaks through the humid air. You make your way closer. Eventually, you’re standing almost beside him as he works. He’s clearly gotten you a fresh batch of bones for this. Some of the muscle and tendons haven’t been completely removed. You wrinkle your nose. You had gotten used to the taste, but this was too stark of a reminder of just what exactly you were eating for dinner every night. 

Another snap. Thomas breaks off what appears to be a femur and has set it on the table. He picks up a cleaver. The ease with which he handles it makes you breathless for a second. Watching him work with the meat was always an amazing experience. He knew his way around each of the tools on his work table like the back of his hand, and he handle each one of them so eloquently and reverently. It made your heart skip a beat in your chest. You watch him intently as he swings the cleaver down and into the bone. It doesn’t split the bone in half. Rather, it’s split just enough for the marrow to show. He turns to look at you. You nod.

“Yeah, that’s perfect.”

You spend the next little bit watching him as he picks the right bones for you to use. Most of it is spent in a comfortable silence. He does occasionally stop so you can give him your input or make sure that he’s giving you the right thing. When you walk up the stairs, you’ve got several femurs, multiple ribs, and other assorted bones wrapped up in paper. You make your way over to the kitchen quickly, eager to begin work.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The hardest part about making Sunday dinner is not the actual process of making it. Thomas helps you with a good bit of it, bringing you the cuts of meat that you asked for as well as anything else he thinks might help. You suspect he’s been sneaking into the garden to grab you vegetables, despite the fact that you told him no, you would go get them. He also makes sure to stand by while you cook the meat itself in order to make sure you do it right. While it’s similar enough to beef or chicken, it’s just different enough that you appreciate Thomas’s help.

No, the difficult part is dealing with Hoyt and Monty. You’ve been having to fend both of them off from the moment you started cooking. The broth itself had only been on the stove for an hour before Hoyt made his way into the kitchen. Luckily, you were in there. You decided that cleaning up the kitchen while you waited on the broth was the best course of action. Something told you that you would have to stay in there to fend off the Hewitt men. Except for Thomas. You had informed him that he could be your taste tester since he was so nice in helping you. 

“I smell something mighty damn good.” Hoyt’s voice comes from the back door. He’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed in front of you.

“I’m making bone broth.”   
“Bone broth? You’re making fuckin’ homemade bone broth?” His tone is both teasing and incredulous at the same time. “I didn’t even think you could make a fuckin’ sandwich.” The sound of his boots echo in the small room. “And what is this for?”

“Sunday dinner.” You turn to face him, eyeing him warily. The two of you certainly got along much better than you had before, but that didn’t mean you trusted him in the slightest. You suspect that the feeling was mutual. “I need broth as a part of the recipe.”

Hoyt whistles. “Must be some fancy shit if you’re making homemade bone broth for it.” He steps forward. You repress the instinctive urge to grab a knife. 

“I thought I’d make something nice, yes.” You don’t let your eyes leave him. He seems calm for the moment, but you also know how rapidly that will change. He steps towards you again. He looks as if he has some sort of comment he wants to make, most likely sexual, when the dining room door opens. Thomas strides in, going over to the fridge to grab something. He doesn’t even seem to notice the two of you.

“Tommy! Did you know she’s making us some fancy shit for Sunday dinner?” Hoyt asks as Thomas is bent over, grabbing a beer. He turns to look at Hoyt slowly before nodding.

“Did she tell you what it is?”

Thomas shrugs, straightening to his full height as he does so.   
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Again, all Hoyt gets is a shrug before Tommy begins leaving. Hoyt is clearly upset with this answer because he instantly begins following the larger man, yelling at him in a vain attempt to get answers to his questions. You bit your tongue to keep from laughing until they leave the room.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sunday is worse. You end up having Thomas stand guard while you cook the dish. Hoyt and Monty both keep on trying to get the food before it’s done, and it gets to the point where you just can’t handle it. Thankfully, Thomas was there to help. If you were honest, you suspect that he had been lurking around because he knew that you would need him to fend them off. Luda Mae stays in the kitchen as well, watching you like a hawk as you cook. You get the feeling she doesn’t trust you not to poison them.

Thank God for Thomas. Luda Mae made you nervous. You could never quite tell what she was thinking. She also scrutinized you in such a way that you almost always felt that if you did one thing wrong, it would end poorly for you. You knew that she had her reasons, and you also knew that she likely wasn’t looking for reasons to kick you out. You suspect your worry is more from the fear you won’t earn her approval. It was easy to find ways to earn Hoyt and Monty’s approval. Earning Luda Mae’s proves to be more difficult. You suspect if you earn Tommy’s approval, you earn hers for the most part.  
Thomas keeps you grounded, keeps you focused on the task at hand, by simply being there. He makes an effort to check in on you every once in a while, which you appreciate. You make sure to tell him so. You know that he doesn’t get enough praise for all the little things that he does, so you like to let him know whenever you can. You can tell he finds comfort in it.

Eventually, the time comes. The Hewitt clan sits around the dining room table, each with a bowl in front of them. On the table is a bowl with mashed potatoes and the pot used to make the ‘beef’ bourguignon. You take your place at the table after setting the pot down. As group, you all bend your heads and pray, Luda Mae leading the prayer as usual. The prayer feels both short and long to you. You’ll freely admit it; you’re scared. You hope you live up to their expectations and that it’s good, but you’re so afraid of what might happen if it doesn’t. You have to fight to keep yourself from trembling as you dish the potatoes and then the stew onto your plate. You watch out of the corner of your eyes as Hoyt goes to take a bite. He stops just before it reaches his mouth to gently blow on it.

You close your eyes briefly. You can’t stand it, you know it’s going to be bad, and that means worse things are going to happen to you, an-

“Ain’t bad.” Hoyt says. “Ain’t fuckin’ bad at all”


	2. Meat and Greet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A stranger makes his way back into your life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: cannibalism, murder, references to torture, and pseudo-incest? (Reader and another character knew each other before everything)

You're sitting in the passenger's side of Hoyt's cop car, trying to resist the urge to curl up into the fetal position. You knew this day was coming, but it didn't mean that you were ready for it. The Hewitts had decided that it was time you helped bring food to the table. Since they couldn't be sure you wouldn't run away, Hoyt had suggested that you be used as bait. People were bound to stop and help a pretty girl on the side of the road. Once they stopped to pick you up, Hoyt would pull up in the cop car and arrest them. If need be, you would also be there to overpower any individuals who fought back. You were never explicitly told this, but you knew Thomas would be nearby in case anyone, including you, tried to escape. 

The small grove of trees up ahead was both a curse and a blessing. They would give you enough shade in case you were out there for a while, which was nice. Still, they were tainted with the knowledge of what was about to happen. What you were about to become. A quiet feeling in your gut told you that you would have to kill at least one person today in order to survive. You just didn't know if it would be a Hewitt or a stranger. 

Survive. The word rolls around in your head. You know that's the justification Hoyt was using for the family's darker inclinations. You know that all of the members of the Hewitt family would do whatever it took to ensure their survival. 

You know that when it got down to it, you weren't much different than them. 

To your surprise, a van is already parked by the side of the road. You frown. Hoyt looks delighted.

"Well damn. Ain't this a good day! We don't have to go chasin' after some sons of bitches. They came right to us!" He cackles, clearly pleased with this development. You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek. "Let's take us a look-see."

He pulls the cop car right behind the van. You can see someone is by the right front tire, laying on their back. A car jack is beside them. You close your eyes, praying silently. You know exactly how this was going to play out. At the sound of another car, the man on his back looks up. He practically springs to his feet.

"David! Get out here! We finally got some help." Hoyt chuckles when he hears those words. You try to breath evenly through your nose. You almost miss the sound of a van door sliding open. When you look up to see who it is, time stops for a second. You blink. Once, twice. 

The image doesn't go away. It's exactly who you thought it was. 

Tears begin building up, and you practically lunge across the front seat in order to stop Hoyt from unbundling his seat belt. His expression instantly changes from glee to anger. 

"Don't kill him. Don't kill the guy that just got out." You're surprised how much emotion crept into your voice. "Don't. I'll kill the guy with him, I'll skin him alive, I'll do whatever, but don't. Don't kill David."

"And why the fuck should I listen to you?" Hoyt jerks roughly out of your grasp. "If anything, I got a mind to kill him right now."

"NO!" You try not to screech. "Please. I'm serious. I'll do anything. Don't kill him. Don't kill David." You swallow. "If you keep him around, he'll be good leverage to keep me under control."

"And just why exactly does he mean so much to you, huh? There something I need to know?"

"He's..." You swallow hard. "He's an ex. I... He went off to 'nam, and I thought he died. They said he went off into the jungle and never came back, that he was either a POW or dead, and if he was a POW..." You find yourself shaking with barely contained emotions. Everything was coming back. The heartbreak when David never came home, the anger and rage and helplessness you felt, the reason you came out to Texas. Surprisingly, Hoyt seems to soften somewhat. He moves your arm away from him gently. 

"You still love him?" The question takes you off guard. Hesitantly, you nod. 

"I... yeah. I do." Your answer seems to satisfy Hoyt. He goes to get out of the car again. 

"Well, if he's joining the family, he's your fucking responsibility. He causes any mess, and I do mean any goddamn mess, it's coming out of your fucking worthless hide." You nod in understanding. Hoyt opens the door and slowly gets out. Just before he closes it, you think you hear him say something. 

"Tommy's gonna be fucking pissed about this. If he'd have just man-upped..." He shuts the door at that point with a slam. You can see he's grumbling under his breath all the while. 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The David that came back is not the same David that left. You discover that fact quickly. Hoyt goes over to David and his friend and starts talking. You can't hear what he's saying to them, but it doesn't take long for the conversation to become clearly heated. David's friend is yelling at Hoyt, and it's such an interesting sight you almost don't see what David does. 

Almost. 

David had apparently hidden a tire iron behind his back when he got out of the van. Hoyt and the friend are screaming at each other when an ugly sound, like the sound of bones breaking and wet flesh squelching, breaks the air. The friend gets a confused look on his face before toppling to the ground. The tire iron sticks through the back of the man's head. 

"I-I-I'm sorry officer. I just... I just can't st-st-st-stand when people are rude to those who pro-protect and serve." David's words seem genuine. Something in the pit of your stomach tells you that he was looking for any excuse to kill the man he was with. Hoyt lets out an amused snort.

"You think that'll save you from being arrested?" He asks, although his voice holds less of its usual malice.

"No no no no sir." David shakes his head viciously. "I think she will." He raises a hand, a jerky and trembling hand, to point at you. "I know she will."

Hoyt turns to look at you. Part of you wants to stay still, to stay frozen in the car. Instead, you unbuckle and slip out the passenger side door. 

"David?" His name comes out more of a question. He answers with your name, although it almost feels mocking. You ignore that. You promptly march over to him. 

"I thought you were dead." You don't know whether to hug him or slap him. He gives you a sardonic smile.

"Me? You you you you're the one who went to Te-te-texas and never came back!" His voice is so full of accusations that you bristle instantly. "Bet you came out here to find yourself a new man."

"The hell I did. I came out here because someone told me that someone at Fort Worth might know something about what happened to you!" You resist the urge to stomp your foot. David laughs. 

"I bet so." You see red for an instant. You don't know what causes it. Maybe it's because you've been living with the Hewitts so long. Your hand instantly flies up, and you put all your strength into back handing David.

It never lands. 

Another hand, one much larger than yours, shoots out and grabs your wrist. It takes you a moment to realize Thomas has come out from his hiding place and is the one gripping your wrist. You turn to face him. His eyes are trained on your face, sorrow radiating from them. You open your mouth to speak. 

"Tommy, meet your sister's former beau. Beau, meet Tommy." Hoyt seems all too delighted at this turn of events. Thomas turns his head ever so slightly to face David, letting out a noise that could only be considered an unfriendly greeting. David smiles.

"C-c-call me Chop Top." As he speaks, he moves his hands to his head. You have to bite down hard on your tongue to prevent a gap escaping when he removes the wig. A metal plate covers a good portion of his scalp. "All my friends do."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

During the ride back, Dav- Chop Top. You keep reminding yourself to call him Chop Top. It's like when Hoyt declared Charlie was dead. David was dead as well, as far as Chop Top was concerned. Chop Top tells you what happened. 

"Y-y-you know how I used to llllike all them Westerns?" He begins. You nod.

"Yeah. You did fancy yourself to be a cowboy in a way."

"More than you know. I-I-I thought that it'd be fun to scalp some people myself. Just like the Injuns. I got so-so-some good scalps too! But Charlie, Charlie didn't take too kind to it. They-they-they got me one day, and they thought it'd be fun to try and ggggive me a taste of my own medicine. My unit got there and man-man-managed to stop them before they got it done. Still did enough damage." He taps the exposed metal plate for emphasis. 

"What about..." You stop yourself. You don't want to be rude or insensitive. Chop Top grins, a wide grin with too much teeth.

"Th-th-the stutter? Agent Orange. On-on-on the way back to camp, mm-mm-mmy unit got caught in it. Government says it can't cause this, but I k-k-know that's bullshit." As he speaks, he starts scratching the metal plate. "I saw fir-fir-first hand what it can do to people. It ain't pretty."

Hoyt snorts from the front seat. Chop Top whirls to face him.

"T-t-the fuck are you laughing at?"

"You. Thinking you've seen shit."

"I-I-I don't think so. I know so. I hhhhad to kill my b-b-best friend in order to survive."

"Did ya eat him?" The question nearly catches you off guard. Leave it to Hoyt to ask that. 

"Of f-fu-fu-fu-fucking course I did. I ain't wasting meat."

"You'll do just fine with us then."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hoyt and Chop Top end up getting along together like a house on fire. The two almost seem to want to out-do the other when it comes to depraved things. You blame that for why you pull away from Chop Top, although you know that's not the real reason. The main reason is that Chop Top is not David; he isn't the man you fell in love with all those years ago. 

Another part of you suspects an even deeper reason exists. You don't like to dwell on it. You knew that you felt like you did when you first met David. That rush is still there. But if you no longer felt it for David, who did you feel it for then?

One of the most interesting things you notice is Chop Top takes an immediate disliking to Thomas. He never calls Thomas any names due to the protective nature of the Hewitts, but you know. You can tell from the way he looks at and talks to the larger man. He seems to particularly enjoy annoying Thomas and asking him to do menial things. It makes your blood boil. It's gotten so bad as of late you've taken to avoiding Chop Top entirely. 

You haven't seen Thomas in a while. It almost seemed like he'd taken to hiding. The thought bothered you. You usually saw him several times a day, but now, you barely saw him once a day. You frown. The feeling makes you sick to your stomach. Maybe talking to Thomas would help you. 

The stairs into the basement creak as you make your way down them. You don't mind; you're actually glad they do that. It means you're less likely to startle Thomas. When you get to the bottom of the stairs, you can see Thomas standing by the table. Old blood cakes one of the corners. 

"Hey Thomas." He turns slowly to face you, his movements slow and hesitant. For a moment, you don't know what to say. A million thoughts race through your mind, and you can't give voice to all of them, even though you desperately want to do so.

"I've missed you." 

Shit. Shitshitshitshit that was not what you wanted to say. "I mean, I just, I haven't seen you a lot, and I ju-" You stop yourself. Amusement glitters in his eyes. He steps towards you slowly, as if he's giving you a chance to run away if you want. 

You don't see why you would. 

You mirror his movement, taking a step forward. 

"I know Chop Top has been a dick to you. I just wanted to let you know that I... I don't like it. I want you to know that I don't see you the way he thinks I see you. If that makes sense." You pause, mulling over your next words carefully. "I think you're wonderful and amazing, and Chop Top can go fuck himself if he thinks otherwise." You reach a hand towards Thomas's face hesitantly. To your surprise, he leans down in order to let you do so. The moment feels tender yet strange, as if he's a wolf gently allowing you to pet him. Humans don't get to do this. Normal people don't get to do this. 

But you do.

The borrowed skin feels strange under the tips of your fingers. It feels like leather but something all-too-familiar to it, to the glide of your fingertips across the stolen flesh. It doesn't have the same suppleness touching a normal face would, doesn't have the same give. It doesn't feel weird, just strange. Strange in a way that you could get used to. 

You look up to get a better gauge of what he's feeling. Tommy often told his feelings through physical cues, but sometimes you needed to see it in his eyes. They had closed for a second. Slowly, he opens them. You find yourself captivated by the depth in them. You can see and read a hundred different emotions just from his eyes alone. His eyes are moving, scanning your face for something. You don't know what, but part of you knows it's the same thing you're looking for in his eyes. 

The moment is interrupted by the sound of Monty rapping his cane against the floor. Thomas tilts his head to the side, clearly listening for something. You stand there until you hear him groan in utter despair as the tapping continues. At that point, you remove your hand from his cheek. Before you can truly pull it away, you feel something gently brush the inside of your wrist. It takes you a moment to process what it was you felt, and by the time, you figured it out, he'd already stomped up the stairs. 

He had pressed the gentlest of kisses to the inside of your wrist. You suspect it was something he didn't think about, that he had just done it without realizing it. Still... The thought makes your heart flutter. Your grin doesn't die, not even when you hear the sounds of screaming coming from upstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to write a general disclaimer here: Agent Orange probably doesn't cause people to go crazy like Chop Top did here. It definitely did cause neurological damage to a lot of people, although the government doesn't want to acknowledge this.

**Author's Note:**

> The next defining moment is going to have Chop Top! Because we all love Chop Top, and I honestly would loved to have seen them do something with him in these TCM movies. So don't worry. He'll fit right in with the Hewitts, but he'll still be the Chop Top we love.


End file.
